


Tomorrow is another day.

by redheqd



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Angst, Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Character Study, Coping, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Mentioned Karl Jacobs, Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Other, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sad, Short, Trauma, Winged Alexis | Quackity, glatt, mentioned death, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheqd/pseuds/redheqd
Summary: Quackity was quiet, something that was very unusual when it came to that boy.The sun shone, the tree creating a shadow over the grave as Quackity pulled his slightly dirty beanie off of his head.He wasn’t sad, nor happy.It was more of a bittersweet feeling, really.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Tomorrow is another day.

**Author's Note:**

> Quackity-centric story, intended to be a oneshot but i might continue it, depends :)
> 
> Hope you like it!

Quackity was sitting in the grass, the dirt had slightly stained his sweatpants. The boy didn’t even notice, he had worn those sweatpants for such a long time now.   
Or, he used to wear them all the time. Before the election. Before Schlatt, and before Schlatt’s death.

Quackity didn’t know why he kept visiting the grave. Maybe as a reminder, just to be sure that the ram was actually dead. Sometimes, Quackity could still hear the voice of the ex-president in his head. It was dark and echoed, as if it was bouncing on the walls of his skull.   
It often gave him a migraine. 

After Schlatt had died, it was like something in Quackity had died too.   
Sure, Quackity didn’t like the older man all that much. He was a bossy, sadistic and on the verge of psychotic alcoholic. He didn’t hesitate to talk or act, which made him such a terrifying leader.   
But somewhere in all that, Quackity had held a slight admiration towards the older man. A tiny bit of liking. He didn’t think of him as a father figure, not by any means. More of an uncle you only see at Christmas and birthdays. They had fun every now and then, Schlatt shared Quackity’s sense of humour. Although he was way more relaxed than the hyper and loud teen.   
Quackity was energetic, Schlatt was smooth. Quackity had spirit, Schlatt had ideas. They were a perfect platonic match. 

It was a shame that Schlatt had let the power get to his head, he could’ve been an actual good leader. Not to say that Quackity didn’t get a bit too cocky either, but Schlatt had been extreme. 

When Quackity realised that Schlatt was dead, something snapped. He didn’t go insane like Wilbur had, no no.   
He just heard an echoing voice every now and then.   
Quackity realised that what he wanted was more power. He was a fun guy, always had been. Speaking in silly accents and proceeding to sell drugs to anyone that came near him. He was a comic relief, he supposed. Never seen as a threat.   
He wanted to go back to the old him. He wanted to go back to having fun in his own energetic way, he didn’t want to keep hearing voices in his head or seeing a ghost with horns his room. 

So in order to remind himself that Schlatt really was dead, he visited the grave once a day.

The grave was quite sad, actually. It was right under a big oak tree, outside of L’Manburg and not actually where they had the funeral. The tombstone was stained and filthy of rain and dirt, no one cared enough to clean or even take care of it. Quackity wasn’t even sure if anyone besides himself even saw this grave.   
It had the word _Jschlatt_ engraved on it in a fancy manner.   
Schlatt had liked that kind of fanciness, always walking around in a suit and tie. Quackity had also liked it and started wearing similar clothes. His sweatpants and sporty jacket had been in his closet for so long, when he had put them on for the first time in weeks it was a soft and familiar feeling to them. 

Next to the grave was a Yankees cap. Schlatt usually wore it, it was matted and discoloured from years of sunlight, sweat and a heart attack. Karl had found it days after Schlatt’s death, laying on the floor of the van he died in.   
Beside the cap was an empty green bottle. Schlatt had a thing for drinking each and every night. Who knew that all it had taken to kill the malicious tyrant was a drinking problem. Although maybe Quackity wasn’t one to talk, he sold “happy flour” on the regular.  
The last two things that had been placed on the grave was a single, withering rose and a disc. Stal, to be exact. Schlatt hated that disc. It was ironic, because the disc fit Schlatt’s whole aesthetic a lot.   
It was everyone’s way of giving Schlatt a worthy memorial, and also a middle finger at the same time. Can’t say he didn’t have it coming. 

Quackity was quiet, something that was very unusual when it came to that boy.  
The sun shone, the tree creating a shadow over the grave as Quackity pulled his slightly dirty beanie off of his head.  
He wasn’t sad, nor happy.  
It was more of a bittersweet feeling, really.

He knew he should feel sad. Schlatt was a friend. A misunderstood and slightly evil one, but a friend nonetheless.   
But he wasn’t. The man could be in agony in hell right now and Quackity wouldn’t care less. He was happy that the ram was gone, and that made him feel guilty.   
He wasn’t really sure what to feel. On one hand, he was happy. Happy an abusive and alcoholic tyrant was gone. Happy that the new president, Tubbo was elected. Happy that he could finally return to a home that felt safe and not one where he was constantly paranoid over what the other man would do next.   
On the other hand, he was sad. Sad to have lost a friend. Sad to have lost a leader. Sad that he didn’t have any power anymore. Sad that there was still conflict. 

His hair, sweaty after being trapped under that beanie for days on end, flowed in the wind. It felt weird. Quackity felt almost naked without the hat on. He often took his clothes off jokingly, it was one of his running gags. But the beanie always stayed on. It was almost uncomfortable to take it off at this point.

With a sigh, he stood up. Gaze averted down, never leaving the area of the grave. As if he was making sure a half-decayed hand wouldn’t pop out of it at any second. With what happened to Wilbur, anything could happen to his old ram friend.   
But it seemed like Schlatt really was planning on staying dead. The only thing that moved was the leaves in the tree, rustling softly. Quackity had found himself outside a lot more after the funeral. Desperately seeking attention from friends, enemies, anyone. He needed something, or else he was sure he would drown in all his thoughts. He’d start hanging around Tubbo a lot. It may seem selfish, but it was because Tubbo reminded him of Schlatt.

Tubbo was a good kid, no doubt about it. But he was young and naive, he wasn’t built for the president role. Quackity just wanted to help him out, that’s all. It wasn’t because the tiny horns, the small tail and the suit and tie gave him the impression of being in power again.   
No way.   
He just thought the kid needed some help.   
He was doing the right thing, wasn’t he?   
Quackity wasn’t so sure what was right and wrong anymore.

Quackity had began overthinking a lot more too, something he’d never done before. Usually he didn’t think at all, but now it was overwhelming. Maybe that’s how he’s coping, by thinking.  
He chuckled softly, a bittersweet taste in his mouth and a nostalgic feeling in the air. Despite his smile there were tears in the edge of his eyes. He was not one to be emotional, at least not in a serious way.  
God, if anyone saw him like this he’d never be able to go outside again. 

Finally deciding that no, Schlatt would actually stay dead and not haunt him and his thoughts this time, he turned around. This was enough thinking for one day, if he didn’t stop he might lose his sanity. Maybe he already had. He didn’t know.  
In a robotic manner he put his beanie back on. The familiar safety of the soft hat on his head made him feel more at home.   
There was no time for sorrow or loss today. He had Karl to meet up with, drugs to sell and a country to run. He wouldn’t want to be late. 

He knows he’ll come back tomorrow anyway.   
Today is too busy for him to mope around.

Tomorrow is another day.


End file.
